


Devil May Care, We Build it Up Again

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: Anti-Possession Tattoos (Supernatural), Castiel is Bad at Feelings (Supernatural), Castiel is Not Amused (Supernatural), Castiel needs to use his words, Demonic Possession, Future Torchwood, How do you make an anti-possession tattoo stick to Jack Harkness?, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jack bottles his emotions like a fine wine, M/M, Post-Canon, Relationship Issues, Sad Jack Harkness, The Many Deaths of Jack Harkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: Castiel's recruitment to Torchwood comes with its own unique challenges. Jack stumbles on one. In the aftermath, he and Castiel hit an impasse. How much can you ask from someone you love? How much will you sacrifice to guarantee free will?
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Jack Harkness
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Devil May Care, We Build it Up Again

"I'm on patrol for survivors tonight," Castiel said, expression still. His gaze veered left of Jack.

Jack's brows lifted. When Castiel offered no further explanation, he huffed out a sigh. "Fine. Take Will."

Will was new, but Will was strong. Obedient. Creative. A master at rolling with the punches. The kind of recruit that got along with Castiel's somewhat chaotic leadership.

"Will's been with us a week," Castiel protested, his scowl finding Queen Victoria's portrait on Jack's wall. While Jack found the odd occasion to cast aspersions on the old girl, she was uniquely blameless tonight. Neither was she responsible for Will's Torchwood membership, nor had any of their current troubles been misrepresented in her archives.

Even the founder of Torchwood, it seemed, had been duped by the Men of Letters.

"Will's ex-Navy," Jack retorted, "he'll adapt and he follows orders. You need backup."

From across the office, Jack watched as Castiel went through an almost imperceptible dance of control. Fists curled and released. Eyes closed, one slow breath. Head down, and up again: a scene change. It was as familiar to Jack now as the waltz.

"They can snap a human's neck from at least six feet at half power," Castiel said, taking his time with every word. "Will is not trained for this."

Jack moved around the desk, seeking Castiel's eyes. They slipped away from him again, sliding down. The evasive maneuvers made Jack's neck and shoulders knot, a headache coiling at the back of his skull. He kept on looking, carving the emotion away from his face with practice. "They're not here to snap someone's neck," Jack said, "especially not if that someone is leverage."

"That would be worse."

"But fixable."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "If they don't damage him beyond saving," he said, stricken. And there it was. That flicker of condemnation. The how-could-you in his tone echoed with every voice Jack cared enough to remember.

"You're going to be like this? Fine," Jack snapped, "I'll--"

"No," Castiel snarled, cutting him off. "I'm not 'going to be like this.' I'm refusing to commit to an irrational plan."

Jack discarded a half dozen replies, none of which Castiel was going to like. Rational? Castiel wanted rational? His jaw tightened. Fine. "May I finish, soldier?" He asked.

Over Castiel's shoulder, Jack caught the flicker of motion as Gwen looked up from her station. She tipped her head at him, brows raised.

"I have to do this alone, Jack," Castiel pleaded - and it was pleading, the grief a stark, warm outline to his frustration. 

"May I finish?" Jack repeated, his voice cooling.

"Don't make me do that again!"

The answer was to another question. One they'd both been asking for the last twenty-four hours, whether Jack liked it or not. Castiel stared at him, the fury and shame he'd been hiding on display.

His outburst sucked the energy from the office. Outside Jack's door, all motion ceased; all voices hushed.

Jerking a hand at the stairwell to the firing range, Jack growled, "Downstairs, with me, now."

Castiel whirled and stalked out. Energy crackled around him, spilling onto the sensitive electronics in his path. A chorus of bleeps and static sang him down the steps.

For a few minutes, Jack lingered in silence. He leaned against the edge of the desk, shoved his hands in his pockets and let his head drop. The movement drove spikes of pain through his neck and shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he saw the sketches he'd done; the notes he'd taken, years old but scattered on his desk this morning. At the top of the pile, a pentacle burned in the center of a black-frilled sun. Every detail had been measured, down to the tiniest spaces in the five-point star.

Jack blinked hard. He shook his head a little, chivvying off the phantom burn beneath his skin. Another breath, two, three. He felt the press of his feet in his boots, the certainty of gravity pulling him to earth.

He passed Gwen on his way to the coffee station.

"Is it about yesterday?" Gwen said quietly. She rose, following him to the counter. Her hand was light on his arm, warm and sympathetic. "Can I help?"

The yes boiled up in his chest, riding a swell of emotion that he stomped on with a sharp shake of his head. He collected two mugs from the tray and turned his back, reaching for the carafe. "I'll handle this," he said.

There was a pause. "Jack," Gwen said, soft, "I eavesdropped. I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"No I'm not," she agreed, "I hate it, but isn't he right? When I didn't know what we were up against, I listened to you."

Jack eyed her over his shoulder. "Really."

She crossed her arms, tipping her head. "Yes," she said frankly, "I did. And you did know better than me, most of the time, even if I didn't agree. But everything Torchwood knows about these things - it amounts to a big, fat goose egg, doesn't it? There's no sense to them - I mean, holy water? Trapping them with symbols on the floor? Flinching at Christ in Latin? Exorcisms? Are we priests now, Jack, or Ghostbusters?"

With a chuckle, Jack shook his head. "Not likely."

"Castiel knows them," Gwen continued, "After--" she halted again, and Jack clenched his jaw, "--yesterday, I think you might listen."

The fragrance of coffee rose with the steam on the twin mugs. Jack breathed it in. "Like I said, I'll handle this."

"He cares for you, enough to be stupid. To try and stop you being hurt," Gwen pressed. Jack turned. She uncrossed her arms and gave his shoulder a quick, hesitant pat, then turned back to her work. "Do keep that in mind, as you 'handle this.'"

Jack watched her a moment, then picked up the mugs. "Of course he does. Who doesn't?" he answered with a shrug, brief cheer dissolving. He went downstairs.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find Castiel. The sound of shots reverberated up the long tunnel from the firing range. Jack paused at the door as another clip of bullets emptied into the targets. When the short, sharp bursts of sound faded, he called Castiel's name.

Out of sight around the corner of the booth, Castiel put down his weapon. Jack heard the soft metallic thud of it on the railing, followed by the plastic click of safety glasses. Castiel came around the corner, looking subdued but far from contrite. He joined Jack at the door, accepting the second mug as Jack offered it.

"I don't want to fight with you," Jack said.

Castiel cradled his mug in both hands. He looked into it, and didn't speak.

"I believe you," Jack added, "I also won't stay down here and wait for you to tell me it's safe."

"Of course you won't," Castiel retorted.

Jack took a breath. "But I want to."

That got a reaction. Castiel looked up, eyes narrowed, and tipped his head. He put Jack in mind of a certain little white dog at the bell of an RCA Victor, and he couldn't quite stifle the chuckle in time.

"It's easy to be brave when nothing can touch you," Jack said, "This time something did. You say you won't go through that again? You aren't the only one with nightmares."

"I don't sleep," Castiel said. Looking less puzzled than annoyed.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You don't want to talk about it? Fine. Neither do I. Don't make scenes in front of the team about it, and we get on with our lives. That thing pinned me like a butterfly. I'd love to get a pint and let you handle it."

"But you won't."

Taking a swallow of coffee, Jack shook his head. "I won't."

Castiel said nothing. Did nothing. He went completely still, eyes down.

"I think we're going to keep having this talk until we get somewhere. You did what you had to do," Jack said, forcing his voice to soften, "no blame there."

"I know what I agreed to," Castiel said. He looked up at Jack, eyes burning and jaw set. "Yesterday, I learned what that meant. That an exorcism is not enough. That my blade isn't enough. That I would have to listen to you scream, blind and burned from the inside out, while I dug her out of you. And that before I can do that, I have to damage you enough that you can't fight back."

He unbuttoned his cuffs and yanked them back. Peeled his shirt collar open. Yellowed bruises lined his forearms and throat, mixed with pink scratches.

"This is what she did to me while I killed her," Castiel said, "with your hands. While she screamed with your voice. You came back twice before I figured out how. Now I know what it feels like to rip you apart."

Jack watched him without speaking. There was more coming, he could feel it. Castiel argued like an essayist. Best to wait for the closing arguments before losing his temper.

Castiel turned his head away. "I will do what I promised, Jack," he said, "but this is a bad idea. You need to stay here, where the wards can protect you, until I remove anyone she might have talked to while she had you."

"No," Jack said.

"Then you expect me to murder you again, when you run straight into the worst case scenario, just so you can have your way."

Jack growled. "If 'having my way' means I don't have to find your body in a week, then yes."

Castiel turned back towards the range. "Thanks for the coffee," he said.

It took two deep breaths not to mirror him. Jack watched him walk away, took another swallow of his own coffee, and weighed his options.

He heard the click of the magazine sliding into Castiel's weapon. One of the standard issues, by the sound. He hadn't been good at things with triggers when he first arrived at Torchwood, but he learned. Oh, how he learned. He was one of Jack's quickest students, acquiring new skills with a single-minded drive.

Get better. Be ready. Be tough. Save the people he loved.

"Castiel, don't hide from me," Jack said. Prayed it, really. A little. After all, Castiel certainly had his ear protection on by now. If he didn't, Jack wondered if prayers within earshot caused some kind of angel reverb.

All noise behind the booth wall ceased.

"I don't know how to solve this," Castiel said after a long silence. His voice was low and frayed, but clear in the dead quiet of the underground space.

Jack took a few steps into the range, and waited. "I get the feeling you worked alone a lot."

"It's efficient," Castiel replied.

"Do you like it? Is that what you want?"

No answer.

"Castiel?"

Slowly, Castiel came around the corner again. He looked a little silly in dress pants, a white button-up and industrial-grade eye and ear protection. He also looked kind of cute. And destroyed. He pushed the thick, heavy earmuffs down to his neck.

Jack flashed him a smile. Getting to know the angel had been a slow business, but he was starting to see the shape of things. "You know I can't stop you," Jack said quietly, "but I have a counter-offer. Help me get Torchwood ready. Show them the ropes. Then we'll go after them as a team. Trust us. You don't have to do this by yourself."

"We don't have time," Castiel argued. Watched with confusion as Jack tugged the yellow eye protection off of his nose.

"Oh, trust me," Jack said, folding the glasses with his free hand and popping them into his breast pocket, "we have nothing but time. Make me a timeline and a plan, and you get what you want. I'll stay in those wards you put up, until the team's trained. Unless there's an emergency."

"If Hell knows about you--" Castiel's protest trailed off as Jack sidled a little further into his space.

"It would have happened eventually," Jack said, voice dropping to an amused whisper, "It's hard to keep me a secret. Especially from Hell."

Wherever - and whatever - this 'Hell' was.

Castiel made a soft sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "I've noticed," he said, took another breath, and let it out hard. He looked up at Jack. The fear went out of his eyes, a little, replaced with exasperated fondness.

Jack knew this dance like the waltz. And as with any good waltz, he was a willing partner.

In the movies, they'd be kissing in a minute. Castiel would drop his mug. Someone - probably Jack - would have gotten shoved against a wall. Depending on the rating, maybe they'd get all the way to sex on the floor while heartwrenching music swelled. Outside, a sudden thunderstorm would break.

Here in the real world, Castiel was stiff as a board, and clearly having problems. The mug was one - still held in a death grip by one uncertain hand. Jack relieved him of it. He brushed his free hand through Castiel's hair.

Castiel leaned into his touch. His hands found Jack's waist, gripped hard, then froze. Withdrew.

Ah.

"It's all right," Jack murmured. He drew Castiel's wrist in lightly, pressing a kiss to the bruises. He looked up. Castiel was still looking at him. Still meeting his eyes. "Grab my gear, and I'll get us a couple more clips."

There would be time enough.


End file.
